


It's Such a Gas When You Bring Up the Past

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, family fic, friends as kids!fic, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:39:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles finds a box of old photo albums that dredge up the sweet, the funny, the adorable, and the mildly heartwrenching parts of his and Derek's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Such a Gas When You Bring Up the Past

**Author's Note:**

> A not-exactly-on point fill for [this prompt](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/3353.html?thread=3535129#t3535129).
> 
> Also, a note, so that there isn't confusion: I gave Derek's parents names because I'm not sure we know them? His dad is Lincoln and his mom is Emily.
> 
> Enjoy!

Stiles stands off to the side, watching the big strong werewolf men—and Danny—move box after box out of the Hale attic and down into the living room so that it can be sorted in cleaner air. Derek shoots him a glare, and jerks his head towards a box. Stiles groans but goes for it anyways. It’s labeled _‘Memories’_  and Stiles’ throat goes dry.

He slowly makes his way down the ladder, then down the unstable stairs to set the box aside from the rest. Not much later, the rest of the gang joins him; the men all sweaty and dusty, and Lydia and Alison coming in from the kitchen with enough sandwiches to feed a small platoon.

“So, where do we start?” Scott asks, mouth full of peanut butter and jelly.

“It’s Derek’s stuff, so shouldn’t he be the one to look through it all?” Is Jackson’s blundering attempt at getting out of more work. Stiles opens his mouth to make a remark, but Derek beats him to it.

“He’s right. This is my problem,”

Stiles throws his hands in the air, “this is pack stuff! We’re rebuilding the house, we helped move this stuff down here! If we let you sort through everything by yourself, you’ll just keep it in the  _basement_  instead!”

Derek growls.

“Don’t you growl at my Alpha Boy!” Stiles snaps, snatching a sandwich and shoving it into his mouth. He chokes a little on the peanut butter, but doesn’t back down.

“How about this,” Jackson cuts across, “Stiles, since  _you_ care so much and since all of this was  _your_  idea, how about  _you_  help your good ol’ childhood friend sort this shit?”

Derek flashes a snarl at Jackson as soon as he says  _shit_ , and Stiles steps between them. “Fine, since you’re too lazy to be part of the pack and  _help_.” Stiles looks at the boxes, then sighs. “Let’s do this.”

)

They’re halfway through the boxes when the rest of the pack decides to leave. They’ve found at least four boxes full of old childhood toys, and Derek only kept three toys, declaring the rest fit for Goodwill. There were numerous boxes marked with an elegant  _‘P.H.’_  which ended up being filled with stacks upon stacks of books concerning the supernatural. Stiles ran his fingertips over the covers, and then cast a nervous glance at Derek.

“You can have some of them, but most should stay here, in the library.”

Stiles nods, a little put out.

“They’ll still be yours, Stiles.”

He grins again, and they resume working, saving the organizing of the books for a later time.

The sun is setting, and Stiles has called his dad to tell him he’s “staying with Scott for the night.” There are still more boxes in the attic itself, but as for the ones piled into the living room there are only two—which turn out to be full of old clothes—and the  _‘Memories’_  box.

Once the box of clothes is finished with, they both settle against the couch and pull the box close.

Stiles pushes at it with his foot. “You know this box probably has a whole bunch of embarrassing photos of you being nice to me. It would ruin your bad ass reputation—and mine. We should just burn it now.”

Derek actually grins, and peels the already destroyed tape off the top. He carefully plucks the edges back so that the box sits open, and takes the first thing he sees—a thick leather bound photo album. He sets it in his lap, and Stiles scoots closer to look at it. It’s a deep red, and in gold font it reads _‘Childhood._

“Here goes nothing,” Stiles announces, and reaches across Derek to open the cover. Immediately they’re bombarded with baby pictures. A few of Laura, but a lot of Derek. Derek in the bath, Derek on the rug in nothing but a diaper, Derek running through the house in nothing at all. Derek curled up in Laura’s lap by the fireplace, Derek in his mother’s lap, in his father’s arms, in Peter’s arms. The photos of pudgy-cheeked Baby Derek go on for five or six pages. The next four are Baby Stiles—still called Genim, then, if the captions are anything to go by—and Baby Derek together in various situations.

There’s one of them under a tree in the springtime, in the distance Stiles can almost remember how it was a Stilinski-Hale family barbeque, and that the adults had left Laura in charge of him and Derek, and how Laura had just gotten a new camera.

There’s one of them at Christmas, and Stiles and Derek are in a gigantic, hideous Christmas sweater together.

They turn the page again, and the photo has Stiles whimpering. Derek holds out his hand, and Stiles takes it for comfort.

The photo is one that Stiles keeps on his desk, and he’s pretty sure Derek has one of his own in his wallet. It’s Stiles, his mother, and his father, with the whole Hale clan. Derek’s father sits in the middle, and Derek’s mother sits on the arm of the chair. Stiles’ dad has a hand on Mr. Hale’s shoulder, and an arm wrapped around Mrs. Stilinski. Laura is beside her mother, and the various aunts and uncles that lived in the house with them are grouped, tight-knit, in the picture.

And at the center of the picture, at Papa Hale’s feet, are a young Stiles and Derek, wrapped in each others arms and grinning broadly.

Stiles laughs wetly. “I love this picture.”

Derek nods.

They flip through a few more pages, but it consists mostly of more baby photos. Derek sets it aside, and this time Stiles grab the next one. It’s the same color as the first but doesn’t have anything on the cover. Stiles opens it, and laughs because he wasn’t expecting toddler photos to come next. The first album was them between birth and the age of three or four. This one was up through age six, at the very least.

They flip through the pages, until they come to a page with only a photo of Stiles. It’s him, red in the face and a look that screams both indignation an determination. Under it is his mother’s scrawl,  _‘Genim swore up and down today that when he was big and grown up he was gonna marry Derek, just like “Daddy married Momma” and just like “Mr. and Mrs. Hale are.” He’s such a romantic.”_  The caption is adorned with sparkles and hearts and stars.

They both stare at the caption, and Stiles laughs awkwardly. “Ha, being a kid was great, wasn’t it?” The atmosphere grows tense, because it’s pretty clear that they’re both “big and grown up.” Derek seems torn between flushed embarrassment and amusement. Stiles stands and brushes dirt off his pants. “I should go, I’ll go, I’ll be back tomorrow and we can show everyone our baby pictures and they can laugh at us, okay? I’ll come over a little early and we can finish sorting through stuff then. Well it was good seeing you Derek!” Stiles it out the door and into his jeep before Derek thinks to follow him.

Stiles makes it home in one piece. Albeit it’s a shaky piece, a nervous piece, and a humiliated piece, but it’s a singular and entirely intact piece all the same.

He bursts into the kitchen, completely forgetting that he’d told his dad—

“Thought you were with Scott,” his dad says, making it clear that he knew Stiles had been lying to him at the time of the phonecall. Really, Stiles remarks internally, lying to his cop-father is about as useful as lying to any of his werewolf friends.

“Uh, yeah, got bored, and…” His dad gives him an unimpressed look, and Stiles takes a seat the kitchen table. “Dad, you remember how we used to be really close to the Hales?”

“Your mother and his mother got along very, very well.”

“Oh, like you and Mr. Hale didn’t?”

His dad grins, but he’s trying to fight it.

“Did I ever.. Oh, I don’t know… confess my desire to marry Derek when I was little?” Stiles’ face is beat red, this he knows. His dad is flushed, too, and he’s choking back laughter.

“Did you happen to stumble upon the entire library of photo albums of you and Derek?” He grins.

“Maybe.” Stiles says slowly. “Why didn’t you guys ever tell me?”

“We.. Well, honestly I give it much though until we had stopped talking with the Hales. Your mother was the one to put it in the album. Lincoln and I didn’t have much to do with the albums, that was all your mother and Emily.” Stiles smiles down at his hands, because what he can remember of his mother, that seems fitting. “Emily told me after your mother died. She was looking for.. something, looking for something in those albums, and she showed up one night with all of them in tow, and pointed that one out. I hadn’t seen her laugh so hard in ages.”

Silence falls like an itchy blanket over the kitchen.

“I didn’t think you would ever come back into contact with Derek, not after the fire. But I should’ve known him and Laura would come back. Werewolf business never seems to be finished.”

Stiles nods until the words sink in and he falls out of his chair. “Wait wait wait wait a freaking minute!? You  _know_?”

His dad looks amused. “I was friends with the Hales for several years, it would be hard not to know.”

Stiles can’t fight that logic, but it doesn’t stop him from being surprised. “So, you know.” His dad nods. “How much do you know?”

“I know that it was Peter Hale who committed those crimes, not a mountain lion. I know it means that Derek is the alpha now.” He shrugs. “That’s about it…” Sheriff Stilinski grins. “Is there more to know?”

“Nope! Nope! Not at all!” Stiles stands and moves towards the stairs.

“Genim, wait.” His dad follows him to the foot of the stairs. “After your mother died, I couldn’t stand to be around the Hales, because they had something I didn’t. They were hurt by the loss, but they didn’t necessarily have the gaping hole in their chests like you or I did.” His dad grabs his shoulder. “I had hopes that maybe our connection with the Hales wouldn’t last, especially after the fire, but I think deep down I was ignoring the inevitable.”

Stiles smiles lightly.

“You were five and a half when you said you were gonna marry Derek. Your mother was honestly ecstatic—Emily, too. They were so excited, and Lincoln and I were just amused. We didn’t think it was… legitimate. But you know what Emily told me? The night that she came over to show me the book?” He sighs. “Emily told me that  _‘mates can present themselves at even the youngest of ages, and if there is a set of mates more suited each other than Derek and Genim, then I haven’t seen it.’_ ”

Stiles’ breath catches in his throat.

“There’s a lot about the werewolf culture I didn’t get. I didn’t understand what they meant when they’d sniff each other, when they’d cuddle after full moons. I didn’t need to understand it, because regardless, we were pack in some way or another. I didn’t understand what Emily’s words meant, back then. I didn’t want to have anything to do with them because every time I was at that damn house it reminded me that I wouldn’t get to see your mom again.”

His dad trails off, and silence falls again.

He laughs, “I’m drunk, Genim, I’m going to bed.” He kisses Stiles on the forehead, then brushes past him up the stairs.

Stiles waits until he hears his dad sinking into bed, before slipping outside again, right back to his jeep. He drives until he’s practically parked bumper-to-door of the Hale house.

“Derek! Derek!” He lets himself into the house, takes a moment to admire all their hardwork that’s really making the house seem like a home again, then resumes calling out for Derek.

“I was sleeping, you know.”

“Shut up you woke up as soon as I got in my jeep and started driving in this general direction.”

Derek smirks from where he’s sitting on the couch. “Good chat with your dad?”

“Awesome, totally. He filled me in on all sorts of interesting information.” Stiles sits beside Derek, shoulder to shoulder. “Like how he cut ties with your family because it made him miss my Mom too much, and how he’s probably got an alcohol problem, and how your mom said we were mates.” Stiles looks expectantly at Derek.

“She told me a few days before the fire. She could tell I was.. I think she knew about Kate, on some level. She knew that the person I was pursuing wasn’t you, and she had no shortage of “subtle hints” to drop.” Derek shakes his head fondly. “I didn’t want it to be true,”

Stiles deflates.

“Not because of you, Stiles,” Derek says, because emotionally-constipated or not, he always knew what to say to Stiles. “Because you didn’t deserve to be stuck with me. I didn’t want to be stuck with anyone, so why should anyone be forced to be stuck with me? If you were a wolf, it would’ve been different. But you aren’t, you weren’t, and your dad didn’t have to follow the wishes of my family. He could’ve made it so we never spoke to each other again.”

Stiles simply melts into the couch, his mind on fire with thoughts. “If.. If I’m your mate, then aren’t you mine?”

Derek sighs.

“My dad told me that werewolf shit gets confusing,” Stiles adds, “so explain it to me.”

Derek holds his head in his hands for a minute. “Humans don’t have the same instincts as wolves. There are feelings, instincts, that take hold of a werewolf stronger than it can take hold of a human. Just like having a stronger sense of smell, being stronger in general, better eyesight—primal urges and instincts drive harder in us than in humans.

“If you looked for it, if you meditated on it and tried to find it, you would probably find this tiny, miniscule urge to be with me. To be my mate. But I can’t force you—I could never do that to you. You’re drawn to me, but in a way that you can’t comprehend on your own.”

Stiles stays quiet, then, “I think that’s the most you’ve ever spoken to me at once.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“I do feel it, you know.” Stiles says, soft and serious. “I’ve always felt it. Or thought I had. I don’t know. But we’ve always had a bond, you can’t deny that.” Stiles nudges him with a smile. “I think you’re selling me a little short.”

Derek looks at him, curiously. “You’re serious?”

Stiles scoffs. “When am I ever not serious? I’m always serious. I’m Serious Stiles Stilinski.”

“Right, Genim.”

A shiver runs down Stiles’ spine. “You still remember how…?”

“Of course.” It’s Derek’s turn to smirk and chuckle. He lifts an arm and lays it across Stiles’ shoulders. “So..”

“So.” Stiles nods, leaning just that much closer.

“Are you staying the night?”

“Probably.”

“Will your dad be waiting when we wake up tomorrow to try and shoot me for stealing his son from him?”

“You can’t kidnap the willing,” Stiles points out, “but probably yes.”

“What’re we gonna tell the pack?” Derek asks after they’ve been comfortably quiet for a while.

Stiles yawns. “I’m pretty sure they already think we’re dating, so whatever.” Derek’s grip around Stiles’ tightens, and when Stiles lays his head on Derek’s shoulder, Derek lays his head down as well. Stiles smiles, and feels the stretch of Derek’s cheek as he grins as well.


End file.
